Unconscious Confessions
by Daisie
Summary: After yet another harrowing battle with Voldemort, Harry lies recovering on a bed in St. Mungo’s. Ginevra, his wife of a few years too many has concerns to voice, matters most easily articulated to an unconscious audience. Enjoy. One Shot


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter and the related characters, terms, etc., I only accept credit and/or responsibility for the plot that you do not recognise. So... yeah.

**Summary:** After yet another harrowing battle with Voldemort, Harry lies recovering on a bed in St. Mungo's. Ginny, his wife of a few years too many has concerns to voice, matters most easily articulated to an unconscious audience. Enjoy. One Shot

**Author's Note**: I've had this idea for a little while, and tonight I finally got around to committing it to paper, (or my computer screen.) As I began to write though, I put on a random CD and lo and behold, _Will You? _by P.O.D. came on... I feel it necessary to let you know that the song had a great, if not direct, influence on the following work... If anyone wants it, I would be happy to post the lyrics in a separate chapter. (I simply refuse to label this a song-fic...) )

_Unconscious Confessions_

Harry Potter lay unconscious on a cold and highly impersonal bed in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for the third time in two weeks. The stark, inhospitable pallor of the room existed in obnoxious contrast with the auburn hair of the young woman who sat motionless by the window. Even through her silent tears she bore witness to the beauty and vibrancy of the day, and it called to her. But Ginevra Weasley Potter was stuck inside, bound by civil law and the unwritten statutes of decency to be by her husband's side in his time of need.

But no one seemed to care about Ginevra's needs anymore. No one had cared since she made the change from the brazen little girl, Ginny to the coy married woman named Ginevra, Ginevra Potter.

Now, she was no longer her family's problem, she was Harry's. The true problem though, was that Ginevra wasn't a woman, she didn't feel like one or think like one, not yet anyway. She was only nineteen and already destined to spend the rest of her life with one person and one person alone, Harry James Potter.

She had been eager, if not a little bemused when Harry proposed to her on the day of her graduation from Hogwarts. He'd held her hands in his for all of her friends and family to see. Down on one knee, he told her that he had already obtained her father's permission, an available church, a ring, and a place for the two of them to live once everything was settled. All Ginny had to do now was say yes. And she did. So Harry held her and proclaimed to all that he would love Ginevra Weasley for the rest of his life. But Ginny wasn't ready to be loved like that. Not yet.

It can be truthfully said that life for Ginevra was exciting for the first month or so after the wedding. It had been fun to share their special day with over a thousand witnesses, if only a little bothersome at times. It was amusing to read the articles that had appeared and reappeared in every magical publication imaginable. And Ginevra didn't let it bother her when she was so often completely disregarded in these magazines or simply referred to as Mrs. Harry Potter. She managed to convince herself that her first name didn't matter; after all, she was _married_ now.

Ginevra could honestly say that one of the happiest days of her life was the day that Harry got rid of Voldemort for good, or so they'd thought. Unfortunately she'd played no part in Voldemort's demise. Instead, she brainwashed herself into thinking that she'd done her part by comforting Harry whenever he came back from battles and those wretched "strategy" meetings.

All in all, never was there a housewife more perfect than Ginevra Potter. Harry could always count on returning home to find their house immaculately clean, a hot meal waiting on the table for him, and no matter how many times he left his clothes on the floor, they would always find their way, freshly laundered, back into his closet.

Ginevra learned to sense when Harry wanted to be kissed and loved and when he didn't want to be bothered. She learned not to be startled when she woke up alone; Ginevra taught herself that her individual feelings no longer mattered.

Soon Voldemort was back; in fact he was never gone. Ginevra's philosophy was simple, "the bastard just refuses to die." Everyone found her wit amusing; it exemplified the light-heartedness that the wizarding world lacked in these times. But when Ginevra said it to Harry in passing, he near exploded, "it's not that simple!" Seconds later with a scowl and a loud crack he disapparated. And when Harry Potter returned hours later, in much higher spirits and much more inebriated, asking to be loved, Ginevra obliged. It was her job.

"Harry. I'm scared," she whispered to the window, her hoarse voice finally expressing what she'd been feeling for months. She stood slowly and though her mind was set with determination, she still found her legs trembling beneath her. Walking over to the cot, Ginevra hesitated; maybe this wasn't the best time. Harry had been through hell. These last few battles had been especially harrowing, and now, only in the magically induced coma could Harry's body find the strength it needed to heal itself.

Ginevra hated it all, she hated Voldemort for not dying, for not choosing Neville, she hated Harry for not hating her, and she hated having to put herself and her interests on hold. Most of all though, Ginevra hated herself for always being so damn tolerant.

This was the best time. Ginevra had been through hell and back, this was the time.

Choosing to sit on the space in the bed where she could be the closest to Harry, she began. "Do you know what I want Harry?" She smiled weakly and gently took Harry's heavily bruised hand in her own. "I've always only wanted to love you the way you love me. Honestly, I have, and I've tried _so _hard Harry... But I can't do that anymore. I can't try, because I know I'll never be able to. I don't... I don't even know that I want to try anymore," Ginevra let out a loud sob and dropped Harry's hand in surprise when she heard herself utter those words. "Oh God Harry, it's true," she gasped, "I, I... I've felt like this for so long, this little feeling of guilt was just haunting me, and I've always just dismissed it, but now. It's true, _now_... Oh God, Harry, what do I do now?"

"We, I, can't live like this anymore, I can't fake it... Not even for you Harry, it's all been fake..." she whispered, one hand covering her mouth in shock and the other neurotically stroking Harry's limp hand.

"We could go away somewhere," she began, starting to wring her own hands together. "Everyone else could deal with Voldemort, and we could go away, you could teach me to love you properly, and then, then everything would be fine..." she said, standing abruptly and knocking over her chair in the process.

"No. It wouldn't be fine…" she began, starting to pace to room. "Why am I kidding myself? But maybe, maybe it's not Voldemort or Harry, maybe it's me," she mused, finally returning the chair to its normal position. "I'm expecting too much. I'm just being too emotional. I've wanted you forever; everyone knows that. Maybe I'm asking too much. But all I want is simple. I just want to be happy Harry."

Ginevra had just broken into a new fit of tears when a medi-nurse knocked timidly on the door and entered with her wand drawn. The woman had an amiable face but kept it averted from Ginevra's. She bustled around Harry's cot for a few minutes before turning to his wife. "Mrs. Potter," she began, finally looking at her, but keeping her eyes trained on Ginevra's forehead, "your husband should come to within the next hour or so. Everything's healing as well as it should." She turned to leave, but stopped at the door, "you're a very lucky woman to have such a wonderful man…" Then she was gone.

"I'm sick of being lied to," was Ginevra's response as she moved back to her space on Harry's cot. "You've never asked me what my dreams are… you never cared, but I'm going to tell you now. Did you know that I wanted to be an auror too Harry? Did I tell you that I wanted to help in the development offices? Do you know how helpful I could have been to the Order? Do you remember the bat bogey hex that I came up with? I have a book full of hexes and curses that I've come up with… but that doesn't matter. And everyone tells me that I'm lucky, and that I should be happy, but I'm not," she paused. "All of them are right about your being wonderful… but it just seems like you're, you're not the right sort of wonderful for me."

"I know that I've known _who_ you were from the first time I saw you on Platform 9 ¾ and I knew who you were when I told you that I would marry you… but I still wish you could change. Everyday I've wished that we could just be normal people. But you can't be normal, Harry, I know that this is your destiny… and," Ginny stopped and brought Harry's hand softly to her lips. "I don't think that I need to be a part of it anymore…"

"It's rather simple when you think about Harry," she said, leaving Harry again to stand resolutely by the window, "we just need to end it." She smiled unnervingly and put her forehead lightly to the window, fully appreciating the warmth of the day as it beat against the sterile glass.

"I don't know if I'll be there when they send you home. But I do want you to know that I love you Harry. Very much." Ginny turned from the window and wiped her eyes, smothering the tragic tears that threatened to fall. Still wearing her unnatural smile, Ginny left a soft kiss on Harry's lips and a small note on his bedside table, under his glasses where he would be sure to find it.

"_Harry love, sometimes people change; as I have... but I loved you yesterday as I do today and as I will tomorrow. I'm sorry. But it's time for me to love me. So will you? Will you love me? Then let me go._"

_-Ginny_

The tears never came as the youngest Weasley turned the doorknob, and had she not run out of the room and down the silent corridor as quickly as she did, perhaps she would have seen Harry stir in his cot. She might then have the seen the tears in his eyes, the regret, and the realisation. But it was too late. Ginevra was gone. Ginny was gone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, sitting up in his bed to properly read Ginny's note. As soon as he moved though, a torrent of medi-witches flooded into the room, surrounding and bombarding him with potions and small talk congratulations. But above the din of all else Harry's hoarse voice was heard repeating over and again, "I'm sorry."


End file.
